Remembrance Sunday:

It's that time of year in Britain, when fake poppies emerge by the thousands, pinned to the lapels of young and old, men and women, in honor of the sacrifices made by soldiers for the freedom of the Western world. "On the eleventh day, of the eleventh month, at the eleventh hour..." you will recall. And today, on Remembrance Sunday, I too, want to remember and encourage the same in others.

A news report yesterday displayed the names, faces, and lives of the five remaining World War I veterans in the UK. There are only five, and at over 100 years all of them, sadly they will not be on this earth for much longer. It is so important to know the sacrifices of these men and their peers, the lost generation. It is vital to remember the veterans who volunteered themselves a generation later to fight a second World War. Without these men, and those that worked and continue to work tirelessly since, the opportunities and freedoms we all enjoy would not be possible. I am thankful for these men both in the UK and in my homeland.

I love the poppies. I love the way in which an entire nation remembers together by the simple act of an accessory to one's wardrobe. It is so simple, yet so effective. The poppies speak, each of them, of each sacrifice, each brave action, each son or daughter. They lay in wreaths across memorials and graves. They sit firmly in the center of handmade crosses. Together, as they cover a country, the poppies paint the image of the dead sitting peacefully in a field of the delicate red blossoms, blanketing their exalted part of heaven.



"Prayer to St. Peter" by Edwin McCain

Let them in, Peter
For they are very tired
Give them couches where the angels sleep
And light those fires
Let them wake whole again
To brand new dawns
Fired by the sun
Not war-time's bloody guns
May their peace be deep
Remember where their broken bodies lie
God knows how young they were
To have to die
You know God knows how young they were
To have to die

Give them things they like
Let them make some noise
Give dance hall bands, not golden harps
To these our boys
Let them love Peter
For they've had no time
They should have bird songs
And trees and hills to climb
The taste of summer
And a ripened pear
And girls as sweet as meadow wind
And flowing hair
And tell them how they are missed
But say not to fear
It's gonna be alright
With us down here

Let them in, Peter
For they are very tired
Give them couches where the angels sleep
And light those fires
Let them wake whole again
To brand new dawns
Fired by the sun
Not war-time's bloody guns
May their peace be deep
Remember where their broken bodies lie
God knows how young they were
To have to die
You know God knows how young they were
To have to die

And tell them how they are missed
But say not to fear
It's gonna be alright
With us down here



I will not be silent. I will speak out to remember those who sacrificed their lives for a greater good. I am thankful for them all. Especially, I am thankful for the veterans in my own family, and those who serve faithfully today. So to Ted, Poppa Joe, and Chris this one is for you. I am proud: immensely, without wavering, and in complete faith of you all. Thank you. Today and always, thank you.

All my love,
Elizabeth